


Too Hot to Handle - A Crack Fic

by vol_ctrl



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crack, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Crowley, Fluff and Crack, Humor, Incubus Crowley, M/M, Smut, crowley in heels, gardening tips with Crowley, is it crossdressing if they're non-binary?, slut crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-27 03:02:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19781899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vol_ctrl/pseuds/vol_ctrl
Summary: Dear God why did I write this. Why does it have multiple chapters. After the Armageddon-That-Wasn't, Anathema needs to ask Crowley a favor and accidentally changes his designation to 'incubus.' Smut ensues.





	1. Crowley, How Does your Garden Grow?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheHollaStanley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHollaStanley/gifts).



> Blame this on Field and the Ineffable Husbands discord server. It's all their fault.

“Are you… sure this is a good idea?” Newt asked.

“We  _ did  _ save the world together. I’m just going to ask him a little favor,” Anathema replied. She was barely paying Newt any mind. Newt knew better than to get in the way when she got like this. All... witchy. She had chalk in one hand and a heavy tome propped up in the crook of her elbow. Her eyes went all funny at times like this, and Newt swore he could see her hair curl on end.

“Um. Right.” This would all be fine, Newt reassured himself. Just his perfectly normal witch girlfriend summoning their perfectly normal demon acquaintance. Normal Saturday afternoon. “I’m going to go make some tea.”

Anathema didn’t hear him. Her lips moved silently as she dictated the runes from the book through her hand. There were many kinds of summoning circles in countless books she had acquired over the years, but Anathema trusted this book implicitly. Every practical magic she had pulled from this book had gone off without a hitch--and with her careful precision, of course.

This particular summoning circle was meant for demons, so Anathema was sure it would be no more inconvenient than a Skype call. Especially because she had noticed, eagle-eye that she was, that one of the runes was for binding. She didn’t want to bind Crowley--just ask a little favor. After some excitable double-checking, she’d fixed it. If she used  _ mu  _ instead of  _ set,  _ it would just be a temporary summoning. No binding, no problem.

Anathema let out a slow breath, eyes wide behind her glasses as she stepped back to observe the large, intricate circle she had chalked onto the wooden floor of the living room. With a satisfied smile, she snapped the book closed and put it aside. Now, all there was to do was the summoning.

As Anathema took slow, deep, cleansing breaths, she held her arms out, fingers spread. Newt slowly crept into the doorway, cradling a steaming cup in his hands. He watched, wary as he blew at his tea pensively. His eyes widened, mouth stuck in a puckered ‘oh,’ as the chalk began to glow with a light all its own. A breeze picked up in the room, rustling the post on the end table. Even after all he’d seen, Newt still couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw Anathema do proper magic.

Anathema spoke an incantation, and her voice changed and twinned with the voices of her ancestors, all the way back to Agnes. Gave Newt the willies. The breeze swirled around the room, slow at first, and then focused on a point at the center of the summoning circle.

An enormous crack sounded before a yell as if from a great height. With a sizzle and hiss, there was suddenly a demon staggering in the circle.

Crowley clutched his head and staggered, then stopped short on some invisible barrier. “Holy… fuck! What in-” He blinked owlishly behind his glasses and whipped his head around. This was not his cottage. This was not the village green. That was not Aziraphale. His head was swimming and his vision blurry. He rubbed at his eyes under his glasses. “What the fuck,” he hissed.

“Oh. Hello, Crowley.” Anathema said pleasantly, putting on that sweet smile that always got her out of trouble. Newt had edged further back from the doorframe. “How’s your Saturday?”

“Well! It was bloody well wonderful--just popped out to the village green for a picnic.” Crowley’s voice was terse, pleasant in the most unpleasant way. “What the fuck am I doing here, then?” He was still rubbing his eyes.

“I… didn’t mean to bother you. Only I have a favor to ask.” Anathema got straight to the point. “Newt and I just started our garden. It’s actually quite nice. But it’s the tomato plants--”

“You… summoned me. To ask. About your tomato plants.” Crowley said slowly, just to make sure he got that all right.

“Yes.” Anathema’s smile grew tight. Crowley didn’t sound as willing to help as she had imagined…

“Anathema.” Crowley could see her now, though his vision was still a little blurry. “I have. A PHONE. YOU COULD HAVE CALLED ME.”

“I, uh… I d-didn’t know if you’d be on the mortal plane, and… well, I don’t have your number.” Her smile pinched sweet and apologetic.

Newt had made himself very busy in the kitchen with nothing at all.

Crowley took a long stride toward Anathema, and again was stopped short by some kind of invisible barrier. Probably for the best. He was going to strangle her.

Anathema jumped back. “Oh, uh. Um, yes. You can leave the circle, demon Crowley,” she said formally and made a gesture of compliance.

Crowley straightened his jacket and then made a bee-line for Anathema, passing over the chalk lines with ease now, until he was inches from Anathema’s face. “I will have you… growing the best damned tomatoes this side of Dorset… so that you will  _ never  _ summon me again like that. You understand?”

Anathema gulped, her eyes almost as wide as her glasses as she nodded. “Th-thank you, Crowley.”

“Right,” Crowley breathed. Sooner he got this sorted, sooner he could be back on his picnic with Aziraphale. He felt hot and he didn’t like it. Hotter than usual. What kind of devil black witch magic had Anathema used to summon him? Weird witchy magic. He shivered and shook out his coat, then swung his arm wide to invite Anathema to  _ get on with it. _

They passed through the kitchen, and Newt jumped at the sound of Crowley’s bootfalls. “Oh, hello, Crowley. Lovely day, isn’t it? So glad you could drop by. Would you like a cup of tea?” He said it all so fast, it sounded like one big, long rambling sentence of nervous energy.

Crowley didn’t even look at Newt. “Hello, Pulsifer. Yeah, lovely day,” he said dispassionately.

“We’re really so grateful for your help. So nice of you. Really, m-model of generosity. Oh, Anathema’s going to show you to the garden? Brilliant. Yes, just the--” Crowley slammed the door and saved Newt from having to fill up the air. He took a deep breath and practically collapsed into the sink. Only after a moment did he dare lift his head a few inches to peek through the window at Anathema and Crowley. Anathema, unfluttered as always, was explaining very pointedly the problem with the tomatoes while Crowley scowled at the offending plants.

Then there was shouting. Quite a lot of it. Newt worried about the neighbors. Then Anathema was shouting, too. Good lord, what were they doing out there? It didn’t look like they were shouting at each other. It looked like they were shouting at… the plants?

Newt really needed to learn how to talk to Anathema about these… magic things before she just ran off and did them. This was madness.

“There you go, Anathema! Just put the fear of God--er… the fear of You in them!” Crowley growled and patted Anathema on the shoulder. She was a natural. He could practically see the little leaves atremble, stems pumping double-time to flourish.

Anathema let out a little sigh of relief. It really did feel good to get all that frustration out by shouting at the plants she had been struggling with for weeks. “That really works?” she asked.

“I’ve got plants centuries old, darling. It works,” Crowley assured her with utmost confidence. “Now… if you don’t mind, I have a picnic to get back to..?” he asked. Was the sun hotter out here in Tadfield? He normally basked in the sun, thrived in the summer, but he was sweating under his coat.


	2. Hot Hot Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is definitely something wrong with Crowley, and Aziraphale is going to get to the bottom of it. (By being the top.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somebody stop me.

A couple hours and much swearing later, Crowley was still in Tadfield.

“Fuck this. I’ll just take the bus.” Crowley threw up his hands.

Anathema was surrounded by books and furiously scribbling things on a pad. “I-I think  _ this  _ is it,” she said without taking her eyes off the books.

“You’ve said that three times in the last twenty minutes. I’m done. I just want to go home.” Crowley wasn’t just irritable from standing around in Jasmine Cottage and making Newt so nervous he could smell him sweating, he felt… off. Something was wrong. His skin was crawling, and his hair was damp with sweat. It must’ve been all this witch magic. “So long,” Crowley said with a flippant salute.

Anathema stood up with wide eyes. “I’m sorry, Crowley. I thought it’d be a simple two-way portal…”

“It’s alright,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Thank you!” she called after him.

Crowley waved at a very nervous Newt as he exited the cottage and stormed down the drive. He sighed with relief just to be out of that damn cottage. It would be a bit of a walk to the bus stop, but so be it. Aziraphale was probably irritated he’d just vanished. He palmed his phone out of his pocket and realized with sudden dread that he’d had it on silent. So as not to interrupt the picnic. He had fifty message and twenty four missed calls. Shit.

Crowley immediately rang Aziraphale.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale picked up after the first ring. “Crowley, where have you been! I’ve been worried sick! I’d thought you’d been discorporated, or dragged back to the pits of Hell, or God knows what! You just vanished! Do you know how worried I’ve been?”

“Angel, please…” Crowley licked his lips. His tongue felt thick in his mouth. “Angel, calm down. C’mon…” Crowley knew it was useless trying to talk until Aziraphale ran out of steam. “Are you done?” he asked.

“Where are you?”

Crowley could hear the tears in his voice. Bless that sweet angel. “I’m in Tadfield. I’ll--I’m coming back right now. Bit of trouble with a witch and some tomato plants. Have to take the bus.” Crowley wiped sweat from his brow, then started to shrug off his coat.

“What?”

“I’ll be home in an hour.”

“Okay… Be safe.”

Crowley pocketed his phone and finished removing his jacket. Couldn’t remember the last time the English sun had been enough to make him take off his jacket. By the time he reached the bus stop, he’d loosened his tie and the first few buttons of his shirt. It was so  _ hot. _

Something wasn’t right.

Crowley arrived at the South Downs cottage in a state. He had removed not only his coat, but also his waistcoat and shirt, leaving him in just a sleeveless undershirt. He was flush and nigh delirious.

“I’m home, angel!” he sang into the house.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale jumped up from his chair and hurried to meet him at the door. He was taken aback when he saw the state of him. “My dear, are you alright?”

Not only had Crowley removed half his clothes, he had left them strewn here and there along his long bus ride home. “Yeah,” he keened high, then suddenly slumped. “No, no… terrible hot…” He breathed heavy. “Angel, I tell you, I saw the most… beautiful people on my way here. Really. It was all I could do to hurry home to you.” He grinned at Aziraphale and closed the distance between them.

Aziraphale stared as Crowley swept him up in his arms. “Have you been drinking?” he asked, trying to find the humor in Crowley’s unusual state. He reached up and slid Crowley’s glasses from his face to look into his serpentine eyes. They were the most unusual tinge of red.

“Feels like it.” Crowley kissed Aziraphale soundly on the lips. “Must be the heat.”

As Crowley dove in for another passionate kiss, Aziraphale put his fingers to the demon’s lips. “You’re acting most unusual.” He said, concerned. He put down Crowley’s glasses and raised a hand to his brow. “Do you have a fever? Can demons get fevers?”

“I don’t know,” Crowley said carelessly. “Just kiss me, angel.” He took Aziraphale’s wrists and swiftly pinned them against the wall of the entryway, kissing him hungrily. Aziraphale melted, just a bit. Crowley knew how to make his knees weak. But all this--this libido, this raw desire--it wasn’t as if they hadn’t spent the first month christening the South Downs Cottage more often unclothed than otherwise. Aziraphale would be the first to say that Crowley had a healthy enough libido for the both of them, but this was a bit much.

“You taste so good,” Crowley husked as he pulled away, then lewdly licked at Aziraphale’s lips.

“C-Crowley…” Aziraphale was absolutely red. “Just what did they do to you at Jasmine Cottage?” He almost laughed, but it was cut off by a gasp as Crowley’s lips went for his neck. His toes curled and his fingers combed into the demon’s red-black hair. Crowley had released his wrists so that his hands could wander over Aziraphale’s clothed body, impatient. One hand dove between Aziraphale’s legs and the angel gasped and tensed.

“Crowley!” he almost shouted. That was too much! He was acting like some kind of deranged animal! Aziraphale pushed Crowley back. The demon looked hurt, almost scared.

“I mean,  _ really, _ ” Aziraphale murmured. It wasn’t that he didn’t desire Crowley--they had very much covered that ground by now--but this was… not his speed. Not like  _ this,  _ in the middle of the day, when he’d been worried sick about Crowley and now his lover was acting like an absolute maniac.

Aziraphale studied him, and he could see that Crowley was out of his mind. He straightened himself and stepped away from the wall. “What is wrong with you, Crowley?” he asked gently. He took the demon’s face in his hands and Crowley pressed into his touch like a desperate thing.

“I-I don’t know… But I need…” He could barely talk.

Aziraphale brushed his thumb over Crowley’s cheek, but the wanton look on the demon’s face gave him pause. “Come sit down. Tell me what happened.”

Crowley fidgeted the whole way through the story about ending up in Jasmine Cottage in a summoning circle and being beguiled into helping Anathema with her tomato plants. By the end, he had taken off everything but his boxer-briefs and was sporting an obvious erection.

“I feel like tearing my own skin off, angel,” he moaned, sprawled on the couch.

Aziraphale was pacing, a thoughtful hand to his lips. “A witch’s summoning circle…” he mused.

Crowley looked piteously at him and reached for him. Aziraphale returned the look sadly and took a step toward him. “It will be alright, my dear,” he said sweetly and offered his hand. Crowley took it and pressed it to his hot cheek, then against his lips, kissing and then tracing his fingers with his tongue. Aziraphale was so confused. He wanted to help Crowley, but he feared that if he gave him the pleasure his body so obviously wanted would just make it worse.

“I just need to call Anathema,” he said and tried to extricate his hand from Crowley’s worshipping tongue.

“Angel, please.” Crowley clasped his hand in both of his own, pulling Aziraphale toward himself. “Help me,” he begged.

Aziraphale couldn’t ignore a plea for help from his beloved. He allowed himself to be dragged down to sit on the couch. Crowley looked ready to spring on him, but used every ounce of his being to still himself. “I don’t want to hurt you. I just… need this…”

Aziraphale brushed Crowley’s damp hair back from his brow, then kissed him sweetly. Crowley shuddered with a powerful want. “Let me help you,” he said softly, placing a gentle hand on the demon’s thigh.

Crowley’s desperate expression broke into gratitude and he threw his arms around Aziraphale, hugging him tight. “Heaven, I want you,” he gasped, kissing at Aziraphale’s neck and face gratefully.

“No need to rush, my dear.” Aziraphale pushed Crowley back gently. Perhaps if he could quell the fire slowly, Crowley wouldn’t be in such a state. The angel’s eyes drifted over Crowley’s heaving chest, his tented arousal, and he was happy to be damned if he could relish in how gorgeous his best friend was. “I’ll give you some relief. Promise.” Aziraphale smiled as he leaned toward Crowley, leading him to his back on the couch with a soft kiss. Crowley moaned and let his hands find their natural place on Aziraphale’s chest, sliding him free of his coat.

As their kiss deepened, Crowley’s fingers roved through the angel’s hair and his ankle hooked around his waist, drawing him in. Aziraphale’s hands went from Crowley’s face down his chest, amazed by how hot his flesh was, how Crowley lifted into his every touch like a drowning man to air.

Aziraphale palmed Crowley’s cock through his underclothes. Crowley had been practically squirming for this kind of relief since he walked in the door and had made something of an effort to control himself. Aziraphale would fix whatever was wrong with his lover--but first, he would give him what his body needed.

Crowley gasped from the kiss, his head thrown back as he growled with abandon and pulled at Aziraphale’s hair. The angel had rarely ever been in this position with Crowley, with him so hypersensitive to ever touch. It was intoxicating. He kissed that exposed neck, bathing in the glorious sounds he felt rumble against his lips.

Crowley tore at Aziraphale’s clothes, fingers eagerly seeking out the angel’s soft, soft skin. Aziraphale parted from him long enough to swiftly, but neatly, finish undoing his buttons before Crowley snapped them all off. Embracing the eager demon, Aziraphale dragged their hips together with a low, satisfied groan.

No time for the rest of this undressing business. Crowley snapped his fingers to expediate the process, which gained him a surprised gasp from Aziraphale as skin met sinful skin.

“Crowley,” he hissed, gripping his narrow hips.

The demon’s grin was true bliss. His skin was still on fire, but now he had Aziraphale’s burning against him. He rocked his hips sensuously against Aziraphale’s, dragging a hand through his own hair as he basked in relief.

Aziraphale stroked himself, his breath hitching, before he pressed closer to Crowley and rubbed their cocks together. His eyelids fluttered, and for a moment, it was pure ecstasy for Crowley just to watch. This was what his body truly wanted--to see Aziraphale lost in pleasure. Yes, he felt a desperate need for his own pleasure, but seeing his lover begin to lose himself made the heat less oppressive.

“Aziraphale…” Crowley drawled, then moaned. “I want you to fuck me.”

There was another first. Aziraphale was so caught up in the moment, the unusual request only pinged off his mind momentarily. Of course--he would do anything for Crowley. Even more so in his desperate hour. He little realized the strange fog of his mind, drunk on Crowley’s arousal.

“Anything,” Aziraphale breathed and kissed those begging lips. Everything between them already felt hot and wet, Crowley’s heat infected him. He could hardly breathe as he positioned his cock against Crowley’s eager body. Had he been in his right mind, he would have taken much more precaution, but everything about this moment screamed for him to plunge forth.

Aziraphale gasped as he felt Crowley’s body yield to him. More than yield, it drew him in. Crowley cried with ecstasy and raked Aziraphale closer to him. Something came over the angel, drove him with an unseen hand, an indescribable desire. He held Crowley fast and rutted into him.

“C-Crowley, what are you… doing to me…” Aziraphale moaned. His eyes knew nothing but Crowley, hazed with lust and drowning in that serpentine gaze.


	3. Anathema, dear?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale somehow survives his insatiable lover, and pops over to Jasmine Cottage in a slightly unorthodox way.

It must have been hours, but it might as well have been days. A lesser man might have died.

But Aziraphale woke up, dazed and bewildered by the hour. It was dark in the cottage, and darker still outside. He was naked and felt a string of tension in his neck from sleeping on the couch. With a wince, he started to sit up, then found there was a weight on his chest.

“Let there be light,” Aziraphale whispered and the lamps came on in the cottage. Crowley was asleep on his chest, looking utterly content and not at all like the bedraggled animal that had crawled its way home earlier.

He recalled supplicating to Crowley’s desperate plea for help. With a little smile, he remembered how strangely sweet Crowley had looked, begging for him. But his smile twisted as he put together the rest of the pieces. What had come over him? He was shocked by his own fervor. And then… it all grew a bit hazy.

He was reluctant to stir Crowley from his comfortable perch, but he was also feeling quite sweaty, and various bits of him had gone numb. Not to mention, he needed to get to the bottom of this affliction. Had he sated whatever it was? Or would Crowley awake with fresh need?

Judging by the stiffness and soreness of various muscle groups, Aziraphale was quite sure he would not be able to keep up this pace. And besides--something wasn’t just wrong with Crowley. Whatever it was might have infected him. He checked his temperature, then shook his head at himself--silly. Angels couldn’t get ill. Not in the usual way, anyway.

As delicately as possible, Aziraphale extricated himself from beneath Crowley, and was relieved to find that the demon would accept a throw pillow as his replacement. At least for now.

After putting on a robe, it took Aziraphale a good ten minutes to find his phone. He rarely used the modern thing Crowley insisted was so vitally important--though, to his credit, he had been desperate glad to have it when Crowley had suddenly vanished. He put on his glasses to peer down at the thing and checked through his contacts. Hm. No Ms. Device. Well, he’d have to try something else, then.

He wasn’t exactly what you’d call practiced with possession. But, well, he’d done it successfully the once. Couldn’t be that hard, could it? Sure, he had a body to deal with this time, but the principle was the same. Leave his body safe and sound in South Downs, pop on over to a receptive body in Tadfield, and have a chat with Anathema, and be back before Crowley woke up.

He settled himself in his favorite chair--the one by the window, where he could see the chalk hills looming over the sea, adjacent to his enormous corner bookcase--and folded his hands in his lap. With a deep breath, he lifted his spirit out of his body and zoomed out over the countryside. It was quite fun, actually.

“Anathema, dear.”

Anathema stirred sleepily and rolled over to snuggle toward Newt. “Not again,” she whispered sleepily, a dreamy smile on her face. “I’ll still be here in the morning… Besides, you always fall asleep…”

“Ahem. Anathema?”

Her brow narrowed. Something was funny with Newt’s voice. She blinked blearily up at her boyfriend. “Oh- Jesus!” she shouted. Suddenly Newt’s placid, soft pink aura was wreathed in holy gold. She nearly jumped out of bed, clutching the sheet around her naked body. Her arm swung wildly, and she was forced to look back and find the lamp, lest she knock it off the bedstand.

Newt smiled pleasantly but sheepishly at her and slowly sat up. “So sorry to disturb you. My, I didn’t even look at the time…” Newt’s awkward mannerisms had softened into something effeminate and polite. “I didn’t have your number.”

Anathema was wide awake now. “... Aziraphale?” she asked.

“Ye-ss. You recognize me! How are you, my dear?” Always the polite one, even if barging in. His eyes flicked around the room, then registered how Anathema was swathing herself in as much bedsheet as possible, cheeks red as cherries. He glanced down at himself and balked. “I hope I didn’t interrupt an… intimate moment.”

“N-no!” Anathema replied quickly. “No, we were just… asleep.” She grinned to hide her embarrassment.

“Oh, good.” Aziraphale-as-Newt brightened. “Listen, Crowley told me that you summoned him here earlier. He came home in… ahem… quite a state. Very… odd. I mean, not--not  _ bad,  _ just… Bit unusual, even for him,” he said delicately. “Did he seem odd to you?”

“Is he alright?” Anathema felt a twinge of worry. She didn’t want to worry Aziraphale, of course, but more so, she was wary of Crowley’s wrath.

“Well…” He bit his lip. Well, Newt’s lip. Or was his lip at the moment? It felt bizarre, in any case. 

“He didn’t seem… odd when he left,” Anathema said. The tension from being shocked by another entity inhabiting her boyfriend was beginning to fade, only to be replaced with the tense worry that she had done something to Crowley. “Ah, irritated? Yes. But that’s not odd for Crowley.”

“This summoning circle--could you show it to me? If it’s not too much trouble.”

Anathema blinked at her possessed boyfriend and cleared her throat. “S-sure. Let me just… get dressed?”

“Oh, of course, my dear!” Aziraphale-as-Newt turned completely away to give Anathema privacy.

The young witch slipped out of bed and quickly pulled on her underwear and an oversized shirt of Newt’s. She cleared her throat again. “You can turn around now. Uh, but… do you think you could…” Anathema shut her eyes for a moment. This was so bizarre. “His pajama pants should be there, on the floor. Would you…”

Aziraphale-as-Newt bent down and searched around. “Aha,” he said as he found a pair of flannel pants in a pile. He shimmed into them, trying to politely avert his gaze as he did so. He turned to find Anathema looking painfully puzzled.

“It’s in here.” Anathema led the way from the bedroom into the living room. The circle needed time to power down, so to speak, so she hadn’t erased it yet. She turned on a few lights so Aziraphale-as-Newt could take a look at it.

“I’m not especially well versed in witch magic…” Aziraphale admitted. He walked around the circle, squinting to read the runes, mouthing their sounds silently. “This is a standard summoning circle?”

“For demons, yes.” Anathema nodded once. “Well,” she tilted her head and rubbed her hands together. “Mostly standard.”

“Mostly…?”

“Demon summoning circles are meant to bind. Of course. Most demons aren’t the type you want wandering about after you’ve summoned them. But… I only wanted to ask Crowley a small favor, y’know…” She felt a bit sheepish about it now. It was silly, really. But it had seemed like a really good idea at the time. “So… so,” she refocused, “I just changed the binding rune.” She walked forward purposefully and pointed out the rune she had changed. “Instead of  _ set,  _ I wrote  _ mu. _ Transitive instead of imperative.” She had that proud fire in her eyes that she knew she was right.

Aziraphale-as-Newt’s mouth pursed to one side. “Do you think you could take a picture of this and send it to my mobile phone?” Aziraphale had managed to figure out the pictures, at least. Crowley sent him so many. “I’ll give you my number.”


	4. Tickety-Boo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Big ol' smut chapter.

Aziraphale made the jaunt back to his own body just as the sun was rising. He wiggled back into his familiar frame with a little shiver. Good old body. Fit just right. He blinked into the warm lamp glow and saw that Crowley was still sprawled asleep on the couch. With a fond smile, Aziraphale got to his feet and draped a quilt over Crowley’s sharp angles.

Then, he got to work.

Crowley stirred shortly after dawn with a loud groan. The couch was an awful tartan weave--not the luxury Crowley was used to against his skin upon waking up. Aziraphale got his tacky--the angel would call it ‘quaint’--tartan couch, and Crowley got to keep his favorite dark silk sheets on the bed. Fair’s fair.

He turned over and stretched. Every inch of him felt deliciously sore. He was still warm, but nothing like he had been leaving Tadfield yesterday. With each brush of the quilt against his bare skin, he was revisited by memories from the hours of mind blowing pleasure he had shared with Aziraphale. None of it seemed the least bit odd to him.

Speaking of Aziraphale… where was his angel? Crowley draped himself loosely in the quilt and sauntered through the cottage with a yawn. “What’re you doing in here so early?” he asked as he found him in the little office. It wasn’t so much an office as a the bookshop crammed into one tiny room.

Aziraphale looked up from the dozens of books he had open on every available surface--including stacks of books that served as further surfaces for books--to find Crowley draped against the doorframe. His eyes still smoldered red, a sleepy sort of seductive that wasn’t absolutely out of character for the demon; but he still seemed flushed, and radiated a kind of innate lust that Aziraphale found shocking so early in the morning.

He fumbled with his glasses and his words. “Good morning, my dear.”

“Morning, angel,” Crowley purred and poured himself forward to drape over the back of Aziraphale’s chair instead. His hands smoothed over the angel’s chest, one sneaking under his robe, as he left kisses from Aziraphale’s temple to his neck. 

Aziraphale flushed and tried to clear his throat. “I… I’m just doing a bit of research. How are you feeling?”

“Mmm… what’s that silly thing you say?” Crowley chuckled low against Aziraphale’s ear. “Tickety-boo.”

Aziraphale had thought Crowley was deviant enough once they had finally earned their freedom to be with each other in every sense of the word. The things Crowley had shown him in those first nights… And yes, they hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other for a good week. But this! He never could have imagined Crowley transformed into this utterly sexual creature, every pore dripping with lust.

Well, that just about confirmed his theory.

“The things you did to me yesterday…” Crowley purred, raking his fingers under Aziraphale’s robe to touch more of him.

“Yes, you put quite a spell on me…” Aziraphale murmured. “Crowley. There’s something amiss.”

“I told you, angel… I feel fine. Not like yesterday. I just feel…” He sighed, lips parting to bare his teeth against Aziraphale’s neck as his finger circled the angel’s nipple playfully.

“C-Crowley,” Aziraphale squirmed in his chair. “S-something went wrong with Anathema’s summoning circle. I-it… s-stop, let me finish… It changed your designation…” Oh, why did he always melt when Crowley touched him there? 

The demon pursued that spot just where Aziraphale’s soft jaw met his ear, paying no heed to the lewd suckling sounds he made. “Hmm?” he hummed curiously without letting up.

“Are you l-listening to me?” Aziraphale struggled to pull away.

“‘Course I am, darling,” Crowley promised swiftly, dragging Aziraphale back into his clutches.

Aziraphale felt his will to resist weakening. This was part of it. It was why he’d gone along with Crowley without question yesterday. Once the heat started to creep into his flesh, he was all but powerless to stop from falling under that spell.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale gasped and grabbed his wrist. “Listen! You’re an incubus!”

Crowley froze, his arms tensing under Aziraphale’s grasp. “What?” he asked. He pulled back and stared down at his lover. “No, I’m not.” He crossed his arms over his bare chest. “And I’m offended you would say such a thing.”

Aziraphale managed to take a deep breath and calm some of the heat coursing through his body. He straightened his robe as he turned. “Yes, my dear. You are.”

“Just because I’m being handsy?”

“Crowley. Do you recall the state in which you came home yesterday?”

Crowley’s drifted askance in thought. “I felt a little weird. It was hot.”

“You left your clothes somewhere between here and Tadfield.”

“I don’t really _need_ them, do I?”

“That’s… besides the point.” Aziraphale stood and took Crowley’s hands in his own. “You’re being more than just, erm… handsy. You have this… power radiating off you.”

“And you’re sure that’s not just my natural sexual magnetism?”

Aziraphale indulged him with a smile. “You’re very magnetic, my dear, but no.” His smile grew worried. “Your _eyes_ …”

“What about them?” Crowley bristled. He frowned at Aziraphale, and then bolted for the bathroom. “Oh, bloody hell!” came the shout from the other room.

When Aziraphale came to join him, Crowley had shrugged off the quilt and was examining the rest of his body in the mirror. He ran his hands over his body, unable to repress a sensual shiver. Aziraphale made a point to look away. It was like looking at perfectly tailored pornography! How was he supposed to resist that?

“Oh, stop that,” Crowley shot at Aziraphale, seeing his shy flush. “You’ve seen me naked plenty of times.”

“Yes, but.” Aziraphale fidgeted. “It’s different now!” He turned his back completely on Crowley. “It’s like you’re… pure sex.”

Crowley didn’t hate that. He looked thoughtfully at himself in the mirror. His eyes traveled up and down his sleek frame, and when he met his reflection’s eyes, he saw a devil there. “Ugh.” He shuddered. Well, he didn’t like that very much. Never considered himself much of a demon, much less a sex-crazed devil.

“How the heaven did Anathema change my designation?” Crowley asked. “Never trust a witch.”

“Oh, she didn’t mean to, dear.”

“How d’you know? Maybe that was her plan all along,” he hissed as he turned on Aziraphale. He crept up behind him and grabbed him around the waist. Aziraphale jumped in surprise. “Well, might as well make the most of it. This is my life now,” he growled as he dove in to ravage Aziraphale’s neck.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale gasped, breathless with laughter. “You’re a mad man! You would do me in within a day.” He wriggled around in Crowley’s grasp to face him, placing his hands on Crowley’s shoulders. He could feel something pressing against his robe. “Look at you,” he teased.

Crowley grinned and held Aziraphale’s hips against his own. “Not my fault you’re so tempting, angel.”

“I’m not tempting. You’re insatiable.”

“For you.”

Aziraphale blushed.

“It feels good.”

Though he had been under Crowley’s spell, Aziraphale could recall how it had felt. Utterly lost in desire, unable to think of anything but Crowley’s bare flesh, his tight, wanton body, every sensation heightened… He burned scarlet.

“We have to do something about this,” he said.

Before he could get another word out, Crowley descended on his lips, kissing him with slow purpose. “I _am_ doing something about it…” he whispered, syllables dripping with promise.

It wasn’t the smoldering sensuality that lured Aziraphale. It was just Crowley. He tried to reason with himself that it was important to put an end to this affliction as soon as possible, but instead felt himself melting into that warm embrace.

Next thing he knew, Crowley had him pinned against the grandfather clock with his robe open. Crowley moved with desire, but not desperation this time. His hands were not the curious ones of their first few times, but the well practiced hands of a lover who sought out the softness of his form fondly. Despite his one track mind, Crowley’s lips moved so tenderly over his neck.

“It was a bit slap-dash yesterday,” Crowley admitted. “I was so… demanding. Let me make it up to you.” With a flash of those red-tinged eyes, Crowley kissed down Aziraphale’s chest, delicately sliding his robe from his shoulders.

Aziraphale ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair and shivered as those lips ignited his skin. He tensed as Crowley’s lips found his nipple, biting his lip. It always embarrassed him how sensitive his nipples were--which only seemed to encourage Crowley to take advantage of the fact. Crowley’s lips melted around the flush bud, drawing his tongue over it, and then his teeth. Aziraphale gasped and pulled at Crowley’s hair as his cock twitched. The demon leisurely treated the other to the same as Aziraphale covered his mouth to mute the little noises escaping his lips.

“How can you still be so pure and shy?” Crowley husked against Aziraphale’s throat, pressing his angular body against his lover’s. His fingers crept up Aziraphale’s arm, gently drawing his wrist away to unmuffle his heated breaths. “How can you still be such a _good_ angel?” He nipped at Aziraphale’s throat.

“I don’t think my side would classify me that way,” Aziraphale replied breathlessly.

Crowley laughed at that. “Your side. I think we did away with all that.” He held Aziraphale’s face in his hands. “You’re all mine, now.”

Aziraphale leaned forward to kiss Crowley, but the demon drew back with a playful quirk of his lips.

“Say it.” His eyes flashed deviously.

That tone of voice went right to his groin. He didn’t think his face could feel any hotter. “I’m…” The look of pure, devilish pleasure on Crowley’s face was irresistible. “I’m yours, Crowley.” He smiled shyly. It felt good to say that.

“The feeling’s mutual,” he purred and kissed Aziraphale soundly. Before Aziraphale’s hands could find purchase on him, Crowley dropped to his knees. He kissed Aziraphale’s belly and his soft hips, relishing in those shivering thighs under his touch. When his lips found the base of Aziraphale’s cock, the angel gasped, pressing his hands back against the glass of the grandfather clock to steady himself.

The insatiable desire in Crowley smoldered like coals. He took his time in lavishing the angel’s member with his lips and heated breath. Before he even took it in his mouth, Aziraphale was whimpering with moans.

“O-oh, God,” Aziraphale moaned as Crowley’s mouth devoured him.

Crowley couldn’t bring himself to pull away until he had swallowed Aziraphale down from tip to base twice. “Shhh,” he teased. “Do you want Her to see you like this?” Let Her watch. Fear of the Almighty’s judgement had kept them apart long enough. If She really cared, She wouldn’t have allowed an angel and a demon clandestine meetings for 6000 years.

Crowley’s mouth was watering for more. He ran his tongue along the underside, peering up to watch Aziraphale shudder and lift up onto his toes. He couldn’t get enough of watching the angel come undone.

“D-don’t watch me,” Aziraphale whispered. “I-it’s too embarrassing…”

Crowley sent Aziraphale spiraling into mindless moans as he lavished the tip with his agile tongue. He could feel Aziraphale’s cock weeping as he swallowed him again and again. He replaced his mouth with his hand, pumping his slick cock. “You’re embarrassed about _me_ watching?” He laughed as he got back to his feet, still rubbing Aziraphale wetly in his hand. “Angel, I’ve seen you…”

“Crowley, don’t tease me,” he begged.

Those red eyes glittered. “Oh, I won’t,” he promised. His hand slipped from Aziraphale’s cock between his legs, wet fingers teasing along his flesh. The angel wrapped his arms around Crowley’s neck and trembled as he felt a long finger press inside him. His breath caught and he kissed Crowley hungrily. There was nothing like this sensation--feeling a part of Crowley inside of him. But he wanted more. He wanted to feel that powerful union between their bodies.

Once Crowley had two fingers inside him, Aziraphale was coming undone, panting and clinging to his lover. The demon kissed at his arched throat and rubbed his eager cock against the angel’s hip. When he withdrew his fingers, Aziraphale groaned desperately. Crowley led him away from the clock and toward the bedroom.

Their bodies separated long enough for Crowley to finish taking off Aziraphale’s robe and press onto the bed, lips locked the whole time. Aziraphale’s legs wrapped around his hips, holding him close. He moaned into Crowley’s mouth as their cocks rubbed together, the demon’s hips grinding against him. 

After a liberal application of some miracle lube, Crowley gripped Aziraphale’s thigh and positioned himself. The angel cried out in ecstasy as Crowley pierced him slowly. It felt so right, Crowley physically inside of him, filling him. His body moved on its own, drawing Crowley in deeper, clinging to him with sweaty desperation. Having sex did all sorts of non-ethereal things to him.

Crowley pulled back from Aziraphale’s embrace to really enjoy the view. Normally, he couldn’t get enough of Aziraphale’s skin against his own, holding him as if he might suddenly disappear from his arms. But now, he wanted to see every thrust undo the angel, watch as his cock slid in and out of that soft body. He pushed one of Aziraphale’s thighs back so he could witness that sweet curve of his ass as he rocked his cock inside him. It was downright sinful how sexy his angel looked like this.

Aziraphale didn’t have the sense of mind to be embarrassed by Crowley’s hungry watching. It just felt so _good._ Sex was always tender and intimate for them, but with Crowley tainted by the lust of an incubus, it was almost feral. Aziraphale was tainted by it, too, this desire that could not be sated.

Unlike yesterday, when Crowley couldn’t get enough of Aziraphale inside him fast enough, he took his time now. Watching Aziraphale shiver and wordlessly beg for more was too good. The blond’s sweet curls clung to his brow with sweat as he clutched at the sinfully silky sheets, every satisfaction of having all of Crowley inside him met with a little gasp of want.

“P-please…” Aziraphale whimpered, looking up at Crowley with hazy blue eyes.

“Please what?” Crowley growled. His hips teased the angel, only giving him a few shallow inches.

Aziraphale squirmed and arched, desperately offering his hips wider. “Crowley!” he gasped, unable to find the words.

“Tell me, angel…” Crowley leaned toward his lover, tempting him with more of his cock as he brushed his fingers through those curls delicately. “I’ll give you anything your heart desires.”

Why did Crowley have to make him _say_ such naughty things? He was never so crude. And yet… it was exciting, Crowley toying with him like this. He’d never wanted more so badly. He licked his lips, looking up at Crowley shyly. “I… want you to touch me…”

Crowley’s eyes flashed with excitement. He dragged his fingers over Aziraphale’s thigh, then up his side, following the generous curves of his soft body. “Where, angel?” He slowed his thrusts to an almost agonizing pace as his fingers smoothed over Aziraphale’s chest, drawing lazy circles around his sensitive nipples. Aziraphale arched toward him, his plump lips hanging open. Crowley’s hand slid along the tense line of Aziraphale’s throat and then into his hair, cradling his head.

“Crowley…” Aziraphale moaned, biting his lip. He turned toward the demon’s hand, nuzzling against it with want. “D-down there…” he breathed.

Crowley couldn’t help but laugh. “So innocent… Don’t know how you do it, angel. You _look_ like you’re very much enjoying being fucked by a demon, but you _sound_ like an altar boy.” He ran his thumb over Aziraphale’s lips, pressing past his teeth to feel his hot, wet tongue. “I like it better when you touch yourself,” he husked.

Aziraphale moaned against his hand, then turned to free his lips of Crowley’s finger. “But angels don’t- shouldn’t…”

Crowley grinned. “That’s why I like it.”

Aziraphale’s hand crept tentatively lower. Crowley was really much better at this than he was. It felt so naughty to bring himself pleasure--being tempted into pleasure by a demon was far more natural to him. But his cock was aching for release. His breath hitched as he wrapped his fingers around himself, sending jolts of pleasure racing through his body. He tensed around Crowley and that sent another explosion of delight through his nerves.

Crowley moaned and fell to Aziraphale’s neck, peering down at the flush flesh of the angel beneath him. Seeing Aziraphale stroking his own cock while he filled him up made him shudder. He ravaged the angel’s neck as he quickened his pace, giving into what they both desperately wanted. The sound of Aziraphale’s pleasure growing in volume so close to his ear nearly sent him over the edge. His excitement mounted, marked by the slap of skin against skin as he plunged as deep as he could.

Aziraphale was lost to the sensation, pumping his cock hungrily, all previous hesitation gone. His mind was a sea of sensations, of skin and sweat and that cock hilting inside him, of Crowley, all Crowley and his devilish temptations. His free hand tangled in Crowley’s hair as he cried out and went rigid in orgasm, clinging to the magnificent demon above him.

Crowley groaned into Aziraphale’s soft neck, his circuits overloaded by the perfection of Aziraphale’s climax all around him. Aziraphale’s pleasure was his pleasure, and he tumbled headlong into an orgasm that seemed to last for an eternity.

When his senses started to return to him, he felt Aziraphale’s fingers drawing soft designs along his spine. The smell of Aziraphale flooded him, warm and sweet and clean--and tainted with the musk of their deed.

Aziraphale smiled as Crowley kissed him chastely on the neck, his eyelids heavy. “Well, that was splendid.” He was a bit embarrassed by his own wanton behavior, but there was something infinitely heavenly about the glow he felt in the wake of sharing such earthly pleasures with his best friend.

“So, I should stay an incubus is what you’re saying.” Crowley murmured with a grin that nearly went ear to ear.

“Oh, God no.” Aziraphale looked concerned by the very idea. “You’ll discorporate us both if you keep this up.”

“Not a bad way to die.” Crowley lay his cheek on Aziraphale’s chest and wrapped the angel in his arms.


	5. Crowley in Heels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale kicks Crowley out, but for good reason.

“I don’t know much about demonic job descriptions,” Aziraphale said as he paced the living room. He had gotten fully dressed after their little romp. Said it helped clear his head. He wore his glasses and had moved many of the books he had been poring over that morning into the living room. There wasn’t much lounging space in his little bookshop-away-from-the-bookshop, and Crowley needed a good lounge to fully express his contentedness.

“You don’t say,” Crowley drawled. Upon Aziraphale’s insistence, he had put on some underwear. And socks. He liked wearing socks.

Aziraphale shot Crowley a look over his glasses, then thought better of it. They had just had sex not an hour hence, but there was something utterly irresistible about the way the demon stretched out on the couch, thumbing lazily through one of the books. His sharp angles were fluid, almost serpentine; the dip of his narrow waist, the curve of his bare shoulder, the fullness of his bent thigh... “But if they’re anything like angelic assignments, they need not be permanent.”

“Say, for instance... if you don’t have a flaming sword, you’re no longer Guardian of the Eastern Gate,” Crowley offered with a smirk.

“You know perfectly well I gave it away for good reason,” Aziraphale bristled. “But… yes. I suppose that is a serviceable example.” He cleared his throat and prepared to go on, but a thought struck him. “What was your job before, anyway?”

Crowley looked up, his brow creased thoughtfully. He gave a sort of shrug and waved his hand. “You know. Demon stuff. Temptation. General malaise. That sort of thing.” Aziraphale stifled a chuckle and Crowley shot him a look. “What was your job, then,  _ Principality _ ?”

Aziraphale straightened proudly. “My job was to help people, my dear.”

“Very specific,” Crowley nodded with mock seriousness.

Aziraphale smirked at Crowley’s cheeky comment and returned to the book in his hands. “There isn’t exactly a manual for this kind of thing. But from what I’ve read, I think it should be as simple as reassigning your designation through a similar circle to the one Anathema summoned you with.”

“Just rewrite my resume.”

“Yes. Well. I’m not really sure what exactly your job was before, nor how to write ‘general malaise’ in runes…” Aziraphale frowned at the book in his hand, flipping through a few pages of archaic text. “I suppose…” he said thoughtfully, his brows raising. “Well, I  _ suppose  _ you could… pick your own job.” This thought brought with it a pregnant silence as both angel and demon considered that changing one’s very nature and purpose could be so easy.

Finally, Crowley focused his red-tinged gaze on Aziraphale. “What if I don’t want a new job?”

“You want to stay an incubus?” Aziraphale fretted, silently pleading with his gaze.

“No, no. I don’t want to stay a sex-hungry fiend forever. I wouldn’t do that to you. Well, not like  _ this,  _ anyway,” he said, gesturing toward himself. “More trouble than its worth--I’m horny enough as it is with you.” He flashed a toothy grin. “No, I mean… what if I want to… retire.” The thought struck him as odd. Could it really be that simple?

Aziraphale slowly took off his glasses. “Retire? From being a demon?”

“Doesn’t really work that way, does it?” Crowley’s nose wrinkled. “But I could be like… a free agent. Couldn’t I?” He tilted his head. “Could I?”

Aziraphale held his folded glasses to his lips. “If that was the case… wouldn’t everyone-- angels and demons--want to… undesignate themselves?”

Crowley shrugged. “Probably not. I mean, it’s simpler if you’re just told what to do, innit? And I’d say most angels don’t question the Big Guy like you do. Or, demons find their loyalties far off the mark of the Great Beast, like I do.”

“I suppose that makes us both a bit of… free agents as things stand, doesn’t it?” Aziraphale mused with a fond look at Crowley. Things were so much nicer now that their respective sides left them very much alone. He couldn’t have done it without Crowley. He wouldn’t have had the courage to stand up to the angels who had always treated him as lesser were it not for the demon who, deep down, really was a bit of a good person.

Crowley met that fond gaze. Before Armageddon, he would have hidden from that loving gaze, lest he allow those feelings to bloom. Now, he basked in it like a cat in a sunbeam. “So. Runes.” He nodded at the book in Aziraphale’s hand. “Any good runes in that one?” Crowley went back to flipping through the book laid by him on the couch, but to be honest, he hadn’t really been paying any attention to the contents. “Just make sure you don’t go overboard. I wouldn’t like being a celibate demon.”

Aziraphale shook his head a bit. No, he wouldn’t like that, either. 

Crowley grew bored in record time. Aziraphale was dutifully copying various runes on a sheet of paper, but he could see Crowley fidgeting in his periphery. The demon had tried to focus, at least at first, but now he was just sliding the pages past his thumb as if the proper rune would leap out of the book.

“You can do something else if you’re bored,” Aziraphale offered with a patient smile. “I’ll find the right rune for you, my dear.”

“The only thing I want to do is you,” Crowley replied flatly.

Aziraphale felt heat rise to his cheeks. “Well.” He didn’t want to admit that he was quite worn out from earlier. Particularly, as it was hard to deny the raw sensuality radiating off Crowley, even in his fidgeting state. Every motion had even more of Crowley’s usual fluidity, that devil-may-care allure. “You could go for a walk,” he offered lamely.

Crowley frowned at him. “A walk? I don’t think a brisk walk around the village is going to help. It’s even more boring out there.”

“A drive, then.”

Crowley considered that. A nice, dangerously fast drive might take his mind off things. But why take a drive when his sweet angel was right here? He got up from the couch and sauntered over to Aziraphale who, he was pleased to see, couldn’t take his eyes off him. Crowley reached for Aziraphale’s glasses, slowly sliding them off his face as he leaned toward him, braced on the arm of the chair. “Why don’t we take a break from boring old runes? There’s no rush, really…” Crowley’s smile was all spiced wine. 

“Actually, I think-” Aziraphale was cut short by Crowley’s lips against his own.

“It’s not every day that I have the stamina to give you orgasm after orgsam after…”

“Crowley,  _ you  _ may have the stamina, but  _ I- _ ”

Crowley poured himself into Aziraphale’s lap, cupping his face and toying with his curls. “I’ll do anything you like. I’ll find  _ new  _ things that you like,” he whispered with promise.

With Crowley so close, his woodsmoke scent corrupting Aziraphale’s clear head, those eyes melting him, the angel felt his heart rate double. He was weak to the way Crowley liked to twist his curls around his long fingers. But he needed to focus! Tempting as it might be now, he knew he would regret surrendering when he was exhausted and Crowley was ramping up for yet another round.

“E-enough,” Aziraphale said sternly. He pulled Crowley’s hand from his hair. “Out,” he said. “I need you out of the house. I’ll never make any progress like this.”

Crowley recoiled with a hurt look. “Out?”

“Yes! Out with you, foul fiend!”

The demon’s lips plumped with a pout. “You’re kicking me out?”

“Yes, Crowley. I cannot help you with your… affliction if you keep distracting me. You need to get out of the house and… and find some other way to… vent your impulses,” he said delicately.

“Are you… are you telling me to go out and fuck somebody else?”

“No! I mean… I mean, not specifically. I mean. You… you  _ can,  _ if need be. I mean.”

Crowley’s face lit up with amusement. “You…  _ deviant!  _ You  _ bad  _ angel,” he hissed.

“Oh, stop it. I’m not condoning your promiscuity. Only… I need time to figure this out, and I don’t want you crawling out of your skin while I do it.”

It was an odd offer, to be sure. But Crowley was grateful. He wanted Aziraphale, but with his wires crossed as they were, almost anything with a pulse sounded appealing. He certainly couldn’t just stay here, sitting on his hands. Already, he felt the fever rising in his flesh.

“You really mean that?” Crowley asked, relaxing against Aziraphale.

“If that’s what you need, my dear. Frankly, I would be an idiot not to acknowledge the- the  _ nature  _ of your current, er… state. I can’t help you  _ and  _ cure you.” Aziraphale combed his fingers through Crowley’s hair with a smile. “Just don’t get yourself into trouble. Remember, consent is key.”

Crowley scowled. “I know  _ that _ , angel. I might be an incubus, but I’m not a monster.”

“Let me know where you’re going, just in case. And take your phone.”

Crowley grinned and kissed Aziraphale soundly. “You’ve a very good husband, you know that?”

Aziraphale turned pink. Crowley had never called him ‘husband’ before. His smile could have melted any ice cold heart. “Well…”

Crowley leapt out of Aziraphale’s lap with a flourish. “London! Haven’t been out to the nightclubs in London in, ohh… a few years, really.” Now he was getting excited. He was going to go out and paint the town red! Aziraphale had joined him at a cocktail lounge once or twice, but booming bass and psychedelic light shows weren’t really his scene. And where was the fun of getting sweaty and friendly with strangers if his angel wasn’t in accompaniment?

“Hmm… what should I wear?” Crowley mused. “I’m feelin’... foxy.” His grin was all canines. With a snap, he traded his boxer-briefs for a pair of black lace panties, and shot Aziraphale a eyebrow-wiggle.

The angel actually gasped and turned quite red.

“You like?” Crowley purred, running his hand over the still-present bulge in the lace fabric. “Told you I’d find some new things you’d like,” he breathed, letting his head tilt back as his hair went from short and neat to a tumble of loose scarlet curls.

“I-I never…”

“Never imagined I looked so good in women’s clothes? Oh, come off it, angel. I saw the way you gazed longingly at me across the gardens of Young Master Warlock’s estate…” Crowley shook out his hair and bent forward. As his hands passed over his ankles and worked their way up his legs, he dressed himself in fishnet tights. He was too much enjoying the way Aziraphale’s eyes flitted around, trying not to stare but unable to avoid drinking in every inch of him. With a snap, he filled in the rest--a barely-there shirt with a black snake coiled around his narrow chest, and tight black shorts like a slash across the parts necessary to be covered. Ironically, he wore a silver cross on a chain. And, of course, black heels.

“Well, that’s quite a look,” Aziraphale swallowed.

“You’re the pretty one,” Crowley said. He was even wearing lipstick now, which made his sensual smile radiant.

“I certainly couldn’t pull that off.”

“Oh, you could if you  _ tried,  _ angel.” Crowley’s eyes flicked thoughtfully over Aziraphale, so sweetly dressed in his tatty waistcoat and bowtie.

Aziraphale looked doubtful, and maybe a little scared when he met Crowley’s gaze.

“I won’t stay out all night.” Crowley leaned toward Aziraphale and kissed his cheek. “So don’t you stay up all night.”

“You just stay out of trouble.” Before Crowley went, Aziraphale stood up and hugged him. As if Crowley wasn’t already taller than him, he was  _ much  _ too tall in those heels. Aziraphale’s expression must have said so, because Crowley just grinned at him and kissed his forehead sweetly. “As much as you can stay out of trouble, anyway.”


	6. One Night of Debauchery, Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Aziraphale's blessing, Crowley hits up the nightlife in London to let off some steam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW WHAT YOU ALL ARE THINKING - _how could you, V??_ Yes, yes, our ineffable husbands only have eyes for each other. But bear with me on this one. We're all going to have a fun time. No angst here. Only crack.

The purr of the Bentley’s engine put Crowley in the right mood. It still felt strange to leave his lover behind in their den of domestic bliss, but in all fairness, he  _ had  _ kicked him out. In all ways, Aziraphale was caring for him, just as he always did in his subtle and not so subtle acts. His feeling of deep affection for the angel took the backseat of his mind as he drove, replaced by an uncharacteristic hunger. He could feel himself sweating already. It wasn’t the desperate heat he felt yesterday, but he knew if he didn’t get some kind of relief soon, he would devolve into a needy mess.

Returning to the city was a welcome change of pace from the sleepy village he had spent most of the last few months in. When they first moved down to South Downs, he had been grateful for the quiet, as the events surrounding the Armageddon-That-Wasn't left him in dire need of some peace and respite. His pulse quickened as he roared through the city of glittering lights. Soon he was bathed in neon as he joined the throngs of fellow late night denizens.

Even if he hadn’t been clubbing in some time, he knew the popular establishments. It was practically part of his job description to be familiar with the various pits of sin. He delighted in the stares his tall stature drew, and took every opportunity to toss his long hair. For tonight, he basked in being an utterly different person than his usual self.

Club Bookers unassuming facade gave way to a dim room underlit with warm blue neon.  It wasn’t terribly l ate, so the throngs had yet to arrive. The club was scattered with clusters of people starting to loosen up and welcome a night of high tabs and half-forgotten conversations, and the DJ was just setting up. Crowley’s hips swayed, his signature saunter more delicate on account of the heels, as he went up to the bar and ordered himself a manhattan. The dark red cocktail complemented his look.

His first catch of the night was a Jordan. Tall, dark, and handsome. He had a smile that glowed between full lips, and molten dark eyes that asked the question on everyone’s mind,  _ Who  _ are  _ you? _ Crowley couldn’t have turned off the charm if he tried. They drank a round together, drawn closer and closer together as the bar filled up, and closer still as music pumped through the venue. The volume made conversation impossible without turning one’s head to speak directly into the other’s ear, made all the more tantalizing by Crowley’s warm touch to Jordan’s shoulder, the brush of his lips against his ear.

Crowley liked Jordan’s cologne--musky and masculine with a bite of aftershave. Very unlike his angel. Jordan seemed like a nice man--the kind who would flirt and buy drinks for the lady or bloke he fancied, but keep his desires subtle. A real gentleman. Under Crowley’s spell, he took every invitation the demon’s seductive body offered. He caressed Crowley’s bare waist and kissed him under a tumble of scarlet locks before inviting him in a low voice to the dancefloor.

Crowley suggested something a little more private. The bathrooms were quite nice at Club Bookers.

Women flocked to him on the dancefloor, both protective and attracted. Crowley had never been what one might call a  _ good  _ dancer, hence why he had subtly encouraged his own preferred mode of ‘dancing’ throughout the years. These days, the way young people danced more resembled the very thing that kept angels from dancing at all--carnal desire, a premonition of how the night might end. But being designated an incubus had its perks, and dancing was one of them. Crowley could feel the beat commanding his body, loosened by the few drinks he’d imbibed and the delicious, sordid treat he’d indulged in.

It wasn’t love he felt, but pleasure. Satisfaction. For all parties involved. Demonic temptations weren’t  _ all  _ bad.

Em caught his eye above the heads of the petite women surrounding him. Most of the women were just taking advantage of the safe space amongst their fellow females to dance, though a few had sidled up to Crowley for a few beats, wonder in their eyes. Em was one of the few who nearly matched his height, and they smiled at each other. Their orbits circled around until the next song, then collided.

Em was a person of few words and expressive eyes. With silent looks, they complimented, and with curious hands, they asked permission. They were butch, but soft in a way that reminded Crowley somewhat of his angel. And they were a  _ very  _ good kisser. So much so that the kissing got in the way, and they ended up at one of the booths in the back. Crowley sat in their lap, arms draped around their neck. Em’s hands traveled over his thighs, squeezed his tightly-clad ass, but stopped to ask before they went between his legs. Strong will on that one--to be under his spell and still so conscientious as to make sure he didn’t mind his hard-on being acknowledged.

They fooled around--the lights somehow much dimmer at that table than elsewhere--and Crowley offered Em the world. They assured him they’d had their fill. Crowley poured all of his gratitude and satisfaction into one last kiss before parting.

Each partner fell under Crowley’s spell, but once the deed was done, they were left with a dreamy sort of contentment. It was the least Crowley could do to control the insatiable allure that came with his designation. Unlike your typical incubus, he didn’t want people chasing after him, begging him for more. He wanted to leave them as satiated as himself.

There was a Candice--pretty, blond, and a bit too drunk. They’d ended up making out just outside the women’s restroom, and then talking for the better part of an hour, Crowley consoling her over a break-up.

Then there was Chad. There’s always a Chad. Once things got hot and heavy, he seemed surprised that Crowley was packing heat downstairs. Turned out it wasn’t an unpleasant surprise. First time for everything.

He ended the night with Jasmine. He was drunk enough by then to ask her if she knew there was a cottage named after her in Tadfield. She nearly choked on her cigarette laughing. She invited him over to her place for a nightcap, but Crowley declined. “I’ve got to get home to my husband,” he said with a warm, hazy smile. “But if you wanted to have a dance in the pale moonlight…”

“Can’t really see the moon in the city,” she laughed.

“You can tonight,” Crowley purred. As he gestured skyward, the moon appeared in the sliver of sky above them. Jasmine looked up in awe, her dark eyes shining.

“Well, you don’t see that every night…” She was entranced, and found herself leaning into Crowley’s arms. His desire for her was obvious as he gazed into her eyes. “Won’t your husband mind…?” she mused, her brow creased.

“He’s the one who sent me out to sow my wild oats.”

She considered this. “Good man.” She kissed him once. “You should go home to your good man.”

Crowley was a bit drunk. He could fix that. But Jasmine was absolutely right. “Mmm, my angel is waiting for me…” He had a second thought and peeked at his phone. “Well, I hope he’s not still up waiting for me. Didn’t realize the time.”

“How far you have to go?” Jasmine asked.

“Heaven’s not far from here,” Crowley said dreamily. “You mind?” he asked, gesturing toward Jasmine’s cigarette. 

She shook her head and offered him one. As she watched the cigarette go between those beautiful lips and lifted her lighter to ignite the tip, she had second thoughts about taking up the suggestive offer.

“Thanks.” Crowley took a drag and sighed. “Thanks to you, Jasmine. And thanks to London! What a night.” Crowley tottered in a little circle, drunk on booze and sex and feeling high on it all.

“You get home safe, beautiful,” Jasmine chuckled.

“You too,” Crowley shot back with a grin. He sauntered back over to the Bentley and leaned against the door to finish his cigarette. As he dragged on it, he purged the alcohol out of his system slowly. Might help with the sour taste that came from suddenly being sober. Even once the booze was gone, Crowley still felt like he was floating on air. Well, if tonight didn’t sate him until Aziraphale could find the right runes to reassign him, he was really and truly doomed.

He stamped out his cigarette with the toe of his black high heel and slid into his car. Before he left, he texted Aziraphale to tell him he was on his way.

The angel was asleep in his chair, and only woke when Crowley arrived home an hour later and gingerly led him to bed. He faintly heard the sound of a bath being drawn. Finally, Crowley was where he belonged, tucked under his arm, the little spoon to his big one.


	7. Crowley Gets His Groove Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's just like in a sitcom. Everything goes back to (mostly) normal by the end.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Crowley itched his jaw.

“Positively,” Aziraphale replied. He had that wide-eyed excitement of trying something new.

“We could just call Anathema…”

“No, no, don’t be silly, dear. I’ve got this under control.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes at Aziraphale.

“You don’t trust me? I’ve done my research!”

“Yeaahhh…” Crowley looked uncertain. He walked around the circle Aziraphale had painstakingly drawn on their living room floor in chalk. It looked about right, though to be fair, Crowley wouldn’t know a rune from a scribble. “You didn’t put any ethereal runes, right?”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “I’m not stupid, Crowley.”

The demon tentatively poked the chalk line with his toe. Well, it didn’t burn him, so that was a good start. “So, what’d you decide on?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale’s expression softened. “Well, I think you really hit the nail on the head with what you said. About… being a free agent.” He clasped his hands in front of himself and smiled. “I chose the rune _libero._ As in, to liberate.”

Crowley grinned. “Not _liber,_ as in idleness?” he teased. He didn’t know shit about runes, but it was hard to forget Latin. Of course he could count on Aziraphale to carefully choose for him. In many ways, Aziraphale had already liberated him from so much. His look said it all; how could he put into words how much Aziraphale meant to him?

Aziraphale closed the space between them and kissed Crowley. Too many times he had missed that look, or seen it and been unable to communicate how it made his heart sing. 

“So, you’re gonna do some witchy magic on me?” Crowley mused.

“Not exactly. It’s a… blend. A little human magic, and a little magic of my own.”

“In that case, I trust you.” Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s brow. “You sure you don’t wanna… just one more time…”

“Crowley, you have me for the rest of forever. It’s not as if I’m taking away your libido.”

“But you get so riled up. You don’t understand.”

“I _do_ understand,” Aziraphale blushed. “It’s unseemly.”

Crowley laughed and held Aziraphale’s flush face in his hands. “It’s _hot,_ angel.” He looked meaningfully into Aziraphale’s slate blue eyes. “Last chance,” he sang playfully.

“Get thee in the circle, foul temptress.”

“Fine.” Crowley sighed and padded over to the circle. “Do I need to do anything?” he asked.

“Just think pure thoughts,” Aziraphale chirped. He had ringed the circle with candles as his focus, since he didn’t have the same connection with the earthly powers as their dear friend Anathema, and now he lit them. Crowley fidgeted a bit, just a bit concerned with how like Aziraphale’s Heavenly portal it looked. His next concern--Aziraphale put his hands together as if he were praying. He really hoped this didn’t sting…

Since Aziraphale’s “trial by fire” and subsequent excommunication from his superiors, his Heavenly aura had changed. Before, it had been pure, blinding white. Now, it was golden as a sunrise, radiating from him as with saints, not old world angels. His eyes closed, a golden halo like a sunburst illuminating his holy curls, and encircling his praying hands. His serene smile was all the reassurance that Crowley needed.

The angel stepped forward and gently touched the chalk lines around Crowley’s feet. The lines caught like a fuse, golden light searing around, igniting the runes. When he stood before him again and opened his eyes, they glittered with light. “Are you thinking pure thoughts?” he asked, but Crowley could swear he saw a playful lilt in that powerfully calm smile.

“No,” Crowley replied with a grin.

Aziraphale reached into the circle, finger extended. Slowly, with purpose, he traced the rune of liberation across Crowley’s chest. Crowley felt the power sear his flesh; had it been an ethereal rune, it very well might have liberated him from his body. But as it was a mortal rune of a mutual tongue, it did not burn so much as etch into his very being.

He had rarely seen Aziraphale so full of his ethereal light. He may not have been the angel that his Heavenly superiors wanted him to be, but he was even more powerful now that he was free from their whims. His healing aura washed over Crowley, holy power overwhelmed by love for his singular person. Tension melted from the demon and he took a deep breath. The air glittering with gold filled his lungs, made his chest too tight, and the rune blazed.

Aziraphale returned his hands together, gathering his aura back up, sealing it back down within him. Crowley exhaled and the light began to fade from the rune on his chest, from the circle around his feet. Aziraphale drew a hand across the air with a flourish and the candles extinguished.

“How do you feel?” Aziraphale asked softly.

“Tingly.” Crowley shook out his hands and wiggled his toes. He looked down at the rune on his chest. “Is that permanent?”

Aziraphale’s fingers curled by his lips, a nervous gesture. “I’m not really sure, my dear.”

Crowley smiled. “Six thousand years and I never got a tattoo. Never found one that suited me.” He ran his fingers over the mark. “Not bad, angel.”

Aziraphale fretted with a smile. “I hope it works…”

“Dunno what _free_ is supposed to feel like. I mean, I’ve kinda just done whatever strikes my fancy, but… with that icky feeling in the back of your head, like someone’s watching you?” Crowley scratched at the back of his head. 

Aziraphale’s ponderous, averted gaze admitted he was familiar with the feeling.

“Well, only one way to find out if I’m cured.” Crowley brightened the mood with a grin and swept forward to take Aziraphale in his arms with a little spin, tilting him back with a dip.

“Crowley, you are a _demon._ ” Aziraphale laughed breathlessly.

“Can’t cure that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end, kittens. Again, a big shout to @TheHollaStanley for listening to me rant late in the nights about this (and encouraging my madness).
> 
> Thank you, fine readers, for indulging in this crack with me.
> 
> I have a serious series that is about to begin Part Four, and just... scads of notes for other Good Omens things. I always post when I release new chapters on my twitter, so follow me @vol_ctrl
> 
> Your views, kudos, and comments really encourage me as a starving artist.


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